logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

characters: everyone.
location: the path from downtown beacon to the harbor; all over town.
date/time: february 16-21.
content: the forest spirits send off their friends to join the aurora. memory opals drop from the eerie green lights above.
warnings: n/a.

i had all and then most of you, some and now none of you.

For most of the day on February 16, all of the town's forest spirits can be found along the stretch of road between downtown and the harbor, clearly setting up for, uh, something. They're piling snow onto the pathway, creating a miles long sled trail that starts outside the Landmark Inn and ends at the very end of the harbor's dock. Not only that, but the forest spirits are also not super willing to explain what they're up to! They're busy, you lantern-havers.

By the time evening rolls around, the spirits have set up wooden railings alongside the snowy path, as well as a warming tent, hot chocolate booth, and announcer stand outside of the Landmark. Oh, and a starting banner for the race! It's dogsled time!

Throughout the event, Beacon's downtown and harbor areas will be completely overrun with forest spirits, all there to bear witness to this holiday celebration—this holiday is for them, though, not you weirdos with your naked faces. Point is, none of the spirits will be hostile at this time! They're more interested in interacting with each other than with Beacon's residents, though if pressed, a kind spirit might be willing to explain what's going on:

The aurora arrives in Beacon for about a week each year, and the forest spirits believe it to be "friends in the sky". The lights are old friends of theirs, it seems! And each night while the aurora shines above the town, the forest spirits send off a handful of friends to join the aurora! The spirits ready to join the aurora build sleds of their own and assemble mighty sled teams, sometimes comprised of dog spirits and sometimes... other stuff. Then, when the aurora is at its peak in the wee hours of the night, the sled teams will ride off one by one, racing down the snow-covered path all the way down to the harbor, where they'll finally rocket off the dock and out over the lake, picking up more and more speed as each team gallops wildly over the water before arcing up into the sky. Once the spirits are barely a speck, they'll hit the aurora and burst into a shower of light. Beautiful stuff!

See, since the aurora is made of light, forest spirits launched into it are killed on impact! Isn't that wonderful! The forest spirits seem to think so! What is death to a dead thing!

All of this information can be learned through handwaved/played-led interactions with the forest spirits during the event. They'll all be focused on saying goodbye to their friends and cheering them on as they stream through the sky, but they're happy to welcome lantern-havers to join in the celebrations. The hot chocolate is free and only tastes a little bit like mud, so. Enjoy!

•••
For the entire duration of the event, the aurora will dance in beautiful silence overhead, lighting up the whole town with its eerie green glow. Every so often, handfuls of opals will rain down like meteorites from the lights above, and these opals each contain the memory of someone currently in Beacon! They can be found all over town, landing on paths and atop buildings and maybe even rocketing straight through your ceiling to crash into your living room. Perhaps a forest spirit decided to hide some shiny rocks in your cereal box or under your pillow... Better hope the Postmaster General doesn't find your opals before you do, though. That spirits sure does love their rocks. Point is, who knows where the opals might turn up?

On that note, if you signed up for a random event, we'll be RNGing characters to receive these random events throughout the event! The event may happen in response to a toplevel on this event log, or we might turn up in your IC inbox... 👀 These events will be entirely random, meaning we could dole out any number of them at any time, so it'll be a fun surprise for all of us.

If you missed signups and would still like to toss your name in the ring, go right ahead! Signups will remain open throughout the event, though we can't promise everyone who signs up will get something.

And finally... Each day, we'll post a list of the forest spirits joining the aurora! What, did you want to know in advance? The forest spirits have never been a particularly organized bunch, so they're winging this—which means more surprises for you. :)

Enjoy the races and the lights and the opals, residents of Beacon, and remember: WHAT IS DEATH TO A DEAD THING!

QUICKNAV
comms	\|	network • logs • memes • ooc
pages	\|	rules • faq • taken • mod contact • player contact • calendar • setting • exploration • item requests • full nav

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

( he's silent for a moment, considering. there's a strong catholic discomfort surrounding suicide, it's a sin that even in more modern understandings skirt around with mild revulsion. Matt himself can understand it, to a point. an edge he's considered but never really reached for.

still, it weighs on him heavier than most things he has dealt with here in Beacon. )

Why now? When there's still more time? ( he asks, knowing there probably isn't an answer. still, he can't quite help himself. ) We're all dead, too, and yet we can't afford to give up now.

"I can imagine," he says, lifting an eyebrow. He has no idea what the "Mist" is or some of these other details, but he can put together plenty to make sense of it. War and conflict are not foreign to him.

"But - if the gods are real in your world, how can different people interpret them differently? Isn't there some concrete fact about what they are?"

[He got roped into it pretty quickly, partly thanks to Roy but also due to his own damn need to help others. His life would have probably been very different had the Elrics not crossed his path.]

The older Elric was 15 and the younger was 14 when I last saw them in Amestris.

[Remember that conversation they had about time travel? Well, Roy and Riza hadn't been the only ones to join them at The Circle. Although Alphonse hadn't stuck around long nor had Winry. He tried not to think about their appearance as much. The passage of time was harder to register on an adult like Roy, but seeing Alphonse in his original body again and Winry, having grown into a young woman, was almost too much for Maes.]

Funny enough, I really didn't know them for all that long, but they had a way of getting involved into all kinds of trouble. Roy had taken them under his wing, so I guess by extension I started looking out for them as well. They were doing far too much for boys their age and I just wanted to help...

What about you and Law?

"Oh. Yes. There was a machine. It. Came down over." Soldat stops, shudders all over once, then shakes their head and starts over, more steadily. "Before and after every mission, the technicians would wipe me. Fry everything." Their memories have been taken over and over and over, more times than they'll every clearly remember, or that they even care to clearly remember.

It's the things in between they want back.

"Maybe more like yours than most people's. Took them away for a purpose. Though I wasn't ever supposed to get them back. Called them malfunctions for a long time." Still do, when it's a full flashback, because they don't know the word "flashback", and it still fits.

[Link goes a shade paler and feels his heart skip a beat.

Ever since he heard about these stones he's been a bit worried that someone would witness something about his past. He doesn't like thinking about his earlier years at all himself and even his more recent adventures have moments that nobody need ever see.]

...Ah.

Did it...show you anything?

Lucky (or unlucky) for Sora, Maes does stop by the Invincible at least once a day or more. Sometimes it's to help Midge with kitchen duty, but other times it's just to grab a cup of coffee or a drink at the bar (depending on the time). It's a good place to hear the goings on of Beacon and you can bet most people still use it as a stomping ground even with their expansion out into Downtown.

So, probably about 15-20 minutes into Sora's wait, Maes comes through the door and goes to start preparing himself a cup of coffee. Most of the spirits aren't around indoors it seems, so he has to do the service himself. He pauses mid-pour when he notices a rather nervous looking figure pacing the lobby. Maes finishes pouring his coffee and walks over, "Sora? You feeling okay?"

There's understanding, there. If Soldat had their memories, if all of these weren't new and filling in the gaping holes in their past, maybe they wouldn't care to revisit the memories of war, either. Or memories of the Soldier, which mostly seem worse. So they nod, prepare to step back--

--and flinch visibly at the question.

"It's not allowed," comes out the automatic answer. Which probably just invites more questions, to be honest, but it's a conditioned response more than anything. It's not allowed.

[The full truth isn't something he's willing to tell. Even now, months after death, where undercover missions just shouldn't matter anymore, the need to keep some things concealed is too deeply ingrained. But he can tell a version of it. Not even lying, really - just something greatly simplified. Requires less explanation.]

He was the last survivor of a disease that killed most of the people in his country. I was trying to get him help. Really strong kid. Bright. His parents were doctors and he probably will be too. Already is, as much as a thirteen year old can be.

"Woah."

The arrival catches him by surprise, of course, because he's used to people calling out a greeting or at least approaching on foot, not dropping out of the sky. If it weren't for the lantern and lack of mask, he might have even mistaken it for one of the spirits. He's quick to recover his composure, his gaze moving from the silent figure as a whole to the outstretched opal.

At first he's confused, but a second later it clicks. "Is that mine then?"

That's... an interesting way to put it. Soldat could almost be glad to take on all the memories of torture, all the crappy conditioned responses, all the unrealistic reactions to things, if that meant someone else didn't have to have them. If they could save actual people (Soldat... Shut up, Sergeant.) from this kind of damage.

Maybe not all the killing people. It's hard to think of how they could be making the world better by killing HYDRA's targets.

So they nod, thoughtful, and can smile absently at the comment. "Steve. Yeah. He was my first happy memory. Shared an apartment in Brooklyn-- in the city. Before everything. He was an artist. And sick all the time."

( Her gaze slides to the stone, and Sarissa visibly tenses, rigidity inching up her back even though she hasn't moved. Her jaw clenches and unclenches, and her gaze flickers to the stone. There's only one person it could be, even if she can't recall the exact conversation. )

I don't want it.

( More lie than truth, if Carmilla's got much sense of insight. Her jaw is tight, and her gaze moves back ahead of her. )

Congrats on getting a view of Satan. That's real special.

Satan is looking a hell of a lot better than I remember.

( why, because she's personally met Satan? or maybe she's just reflecting on that tall, horned red guy. pretty easy to go up from there.

she isn't sure she buys it. even all the ugly, bitter broken figments of her relationship with Elle are still hers and still vivid and there's still parts of them that are beautiful, if she searches long enough. the stone has enough of a tie to the way it felt to be in that moment that Carmilla has to doubt, but maybe one can not want the memory and be unable to let go of it all at once. she shrugs. it's not her job to call a stranger out on conflicting feelings about their past. )

Then break it. Your brain rock, your choice. ( as for her, she's thoroughly unsettled by a memory that even fleetingly made her feel like somebody gave a shit. it's even worse to be out of it and to grimly realize that sensation wasn't even meant for her. she needs a drink. )

Those weren't people, he thinks as a knee jerk reaction. He just as quickly reminds himself that, no, they were. At the time he tried to make a clinical distinction so that his brother would understand his reasoning, only for it to further damage their relationship.

"Though our methods differed, mine was just as cruel," he says, because it's only fair that he acknowledge the ruthlessness of his approach. He knows how poorly it must reflect on him.

In any case, that's in the past. He's dead and there's no point in crying over spilled milk. Straightening, with the flick of his wrist a slice of fresh bread magics into existence in his hand. "I've done as you suggested."

He's sure been carrying that bread around for weeks. It's probably his first time taking it out, too. And it could've been gross, but thankfully all that enters the Armiger goes into stasis.

[ Reliving the memories as Sora, the oddities present in them don't strike Somnus until he's brought back to the reality of death. In his daze, he almost forgets to exhale as he looks down at the tiny opal in his grasp. Wordlessly, he deposits it into a glove woven from yarn that he picked up during the yarn bomb. Then he sets out to search for the boy with keyhole-shaped eyes, guided by the memories' mentions of keyholes and Keyblades. If he's wrong in his assumption, the boy can point him in the direction of this Sora.

As for Sora, the opal he comes across is black with red-blue flecks and just big enough to fit comfortably on the palm. The memory itself is anything but:

The scene is a sprawling throne room, where atop a long staircase sits the Crystal. The gods have made their choice. On this day, the Oracle, who stands before the Crystal and the throne, will anoint the king of the new nation with the nobles present as witnesses.

That includes you. As the second son of House Caelum, you kneel by the red carpet that awaits the arrival of the new king: your brother. When at last a pair of familiar boots enters your field of sight, you rise and say, “It was me, Brother.”

Stepping out onto the carpet, you spread your arms wide before the nobles. “It was me! I was chosen by the gods!” You wait, but only enough for the words to sink into the gaping crowd as you gesture to your brother behind you. “Do forgive me for deceiving you all like this. However, it was necessary in order to lure the seditious traitor here today!”

The nobles are speechless while the Oracle manages no more than a word of surprise. With an exaggerated turn, you face your brother’s back. “What a miserable man. Did you really covet my throne that badly?”

Your brother looks over his shoulder at you. “You . . . ”

Raising your hand overhead, you summon a blade and bring it down to your side in a wide arc. “The gods have spoken; and I, Somnus Lucis Caelum, am king!”

Your brother finally turns around to look at you. His expression is grim, nary a trace of surprise present in his face. Nowadays he expects the worst from you; he knew this would happen (not that you care anymore). “And what if I object, Brother?”

The time for objections passed the moment he walked out on you that fateful day. You two, once inseparable, are now irreconcilable. With a smirk that betrays nothing—you’ve an audience, after all—you lunge.

You trade blows, parrying each other until a powerful swing from your brother breaks your sword in twain. The pointed half of your blade clatters somewhere onto the floor, and the echo is deafening. Frowning, you still. Your brother has also stopped moving, though he continues to hold his sword upright.

“I will not take your life so long as you renounce your name,” he says, and your blood boils.

You summon your personal blade, whose twin your brother yields, and dive back into the fray.

Ever though you’ve been the inferior sibling, you think once the twin to your sword impales you, your brother’s strength now is inhuman. Pain shoots through every fiber of your being as you choke on your own blood. Useless to the last. But what consumes you more than the self-deprecation amid your death throes is your bone-deep sorrow for the people you’ve failed.

As for the hardened expression with which your brother looks down at you . . . well. You deserve that and more.

(Essentially, it's this moment from 8:27 to 9:25 with a sizable deviation starting there.) ]

[After a series of chance encounters with a peculiar spirit, Somnus goes to the scene of the spirits' ascent. He's heard about this strange ritual, but this is his first time seeing it in action. His expression is a touch apprehensive throughout the display; still, he stays for the entirety of the moment and lowers his head once the light emitted by the spirits upon bursting have faded into nothing, and only then does he make his way back to town.

Truly, he doesn't understand this place.]

Oh. Hey, it's the girl with the ears and the magic laser beams. Soldat is a bit more together today, which is to say, they don't duck and pull a gun on her. Progress!

Helps that they saw her coming, slowed down to intercept, and are frowning a little at the way she's moving, like she's in pain. Her words are a distraction, though probably only briefly. It helps that she's not the first to return one of these to them. "Oh. Thank you. One of the memory-stones?" They accept the little bag with something akin to eagerness, stroking the leather with the flesh fingers before undoing the flap to tip out whatever's inside onto the metal palm. "I hope it wasn't too horrible."

[ Sora's heading back to the Landmark after his Downtown patrol only to hear a very familiar voice scream something mildly alarming? He looks around for a lantern in the darkness before belatedly remembering, duh, there's light now. (Kind of weird how light's jarring now.)

Eventually, he spots Jason between the Landmark and the way back to Beacon. He jogs forward, frowning. Why's he on the ground? ]

Jason? You all right?

Sora is on his patrol downtown, picking up stones from the street as he goes and placing them into separate pockets on his thankfully numerous sweaters and jacket, letting them weigh down the pockets of his backpack. He's doing his level best to make sure that he's steady and okay before eagerly searching for more! There have been at least two that have reduced him to tears or have actually caused him physical pain, and he definitely wants to keep himself as mentally fit as possible so he can collect more stones! He wants his own memories and he wants to return as many memories as he can. It's a win-win as far as he's concerned.

This one's a bit of a mysterious one, though. He may be thinking about it a little as he walks along, pondering the contents. Sure, he has a name, but he's pretty sure that there isn't a Jim, a James, or a Jamie in Beacon - he's been through the directory twice now to check - so who could it be? Someone going by a different name than the one they go by here? That seems perfectly reasonable to him, but that will make this quite a bit tougher.

It's almost time to meet the soldier for their regular patrol overlap, and he smiles as he sees them in the distance. It's nice, all this light. Less squinting for little lantern spots in the dark. "Hey, over here!"

Sora's got a smile on his face when he turns to greet Jason. Hey, he may be a little late, and one of the memories he's got to give back are a little grim, but it's hard not to be cheerful when Jason's around. "Heya! Ready to go?" He'll walk toward him, glancing up at the aurora again. "It's nice to have some light here. Wonder how long it'll stick around?"

For the rest of the spirits, Day has gotten them little wooden coin tokens. On one side is the glyph 'journey' carved on it, with the other side having a bright and shiny star. It should be easy for them to keep on themselves when they're going on their dogsleds.

For Fluffy Flower Friend, Daylight got them something extra special: A cape that's been carefully covered in paper flowers, with a little brooch claps to tie around Fluffy to make sure it stays secure on them when they go to the sky. He makes sure to give them the best hug he can muster, after helping them put the cape on, and when he pulls back-

He has the biggest smile on his face though his winglets are dropping low and he chokes out a 'good luck' through a sob-choked vocoder. Despite it all, Daylight makes sure that Fluffy knows that he wishes the best for them and he understands that this is what they have to do.

What's death to a dead thing, after all?

Sora's practicing being mindful, observing, just, you know, being in the moment instead of his own head? So of course he isn't surprised by Soldat coming up to him! Also, this is absolutely their patrol-then-dinner time. Hey, give him a chance, he was really checking if he could hear or see the soldier coming from a little farther off this time.

Anyway, he'll perk up at the sight up them coming up the way, giving them a good way. Oh, it is nice to be able to see outside of the confines of their lanterns.

"Hey! Ready to go?" ... Is it his imagination, or are they looking a little more dour today? Sora quickly puts that impression out of his mind for now. Better to start off on a positive note!

( the last time you remember having a normal birthday — with cake and presents and maybe even a few friends invited over — you were four years old. you don't really remember anything but a feeling, like the warmth from a candle; you were too young then and all you have left of that time is whatever dad tells you, but he doesn't like to talk about then.

your fifth birthday was spent in the back of the impala with eight-month-old sam on the way to uncle bobby's. dad had "something important" to do, but he wouldn't tell you what. when you're older, he said.

when you were six, maybe seven, dad's idea of a birthday party was taking you shooting for the first time — sure, it wasn't traditional but it was just you and dad and a whole row of empty bottles in the middle of absolutely nowhere, listening to the echo of gunshots and broken glass, thinking i'm the coolest kid in the universe right now. then dad told you: there's a whole lot of bad out there, dean. you use these to keep the bad away from sammy, understand? you nodded and said you did. it always came back to sam, even when it was supposed to be about you.

on your twelfth birthday, dad taught you how to make your own sawed-off shotgun. in your family, that counted as a present. awesome, you said, reveling in the satisfying sound of loading shells into the barrel. for a moment, you thought you saw dad smile. you thought it might have been pride.

you're sixteen now. old enough not to expect anything normal. you don't even know what a normal sixteen-year-old would want for their birthday. all you know is dad's on a hunt and you're still stuck with sam (it's too dangerous, dean, you keep an eye on your brother, you hear?) in another shitty motel room in another shitty town. when are you gonna be old enough for dad to trust you with the dangerous ones? when are you gonna finally be old enough to stop playing babysitter all the time? you could be out there, hunting, saving lives like dad. with dad.

instead, you're watching sam watch some stupid nature show on tv.

did dad leave any beers? you ask him. sam shrugs and shoots you a look that says i don't know, dean, you have eyes and legs, you could check yourself and you really could sock him, punch him right in the face (but dad would never let you live it down). how did he manage to develop this much attitude with you and dad raising him?

you're about to grab the remote and turn the tv off when the lock on the door clicks and you're automatically reaching for the gun stashed under your pillow. dad's not supposed to be back for another day or two —

except the door swings open and there he is. you're so shocked you haven't even loosened your grip on the gun. what if it's not dad? what if —

dean, put the gun down. you really wanna shoot your old man? and then when you hesitate, put the gun down, son. that's an order.

you put the gun down, shame heating up your cheeks. sam's turned off the tv so now it's deathly silent as dad stands in the doorway, holding what you now notice is a plastic bag.

i thought you were on a hunt, you say.

dad locks the door behind him on the way into the room, dropping the bag on the small table near the door. hunting for a damn birthday present, he says, and your mouth nearly falls open. sammy, you ready?

you twist your head around and stare at sam incredulously. wait, you knew?

duh, i knew, sam says, a playful grin pulling at his mouth. like i'd let dad forget your birthday. he jumps off the bed and nudges a fist into your arm. old timer.

you crack a smile, finally, throwing your arm around sam's neck and dragging him under your chin — classic noogie. brat, you reply back. sam laughs, even as he's struggling to get free.

you think you hear dad laugh, too. come on boys, that's enough.

you shove sam away and you both join dad at the table. he empties the contents of the bag: plastic forks, a plastic knife, paper plates, some napkins, a single candle, and then ... a pie.

what, no cake? you say, trying your best not to sound insolent. but it is your birthday. who eats pie on their birthday?

pie's close enough, dad tells you matter-of-factly, and that's that. he removes the lid from the pie, placing the candle in the middle of it. he lights the candle, then looks to sam. on three. one ... two ... three — and then they're singing happy birthday, mostly off key, and you kind of want to die from embarrassment, but it's also … kind of nice. you can't even remember the last time someone sang happy birthday to you, let alone dad.

when they're done, you blow out the candle. dad slices the pie. (you eat two. you've never wanted cake again.) sam retrieves a poorly wrapped package from under the bed, and you open it to find a couple of shitty toys. you try really hard to pretend like they aren't the lamest things you've ever seen, but after sam's face falls when you say where'd you get these, a happy meal? you almost feel bad for thinking they're lame.

except then you hear the familiar jingle of dad's keys and your face lights up, the lame toys forgotten. you wanna take her for a spin, dean? dad asks, and you can't say yes fast enough. when the engine turns over with your hands on the steering wheel and the impala purrs on the way out of the motel parking lot, you finally feel like you're home.

years later, forgotten toys are found, displayed proudly in your room in the only other place that's felt like any kind of home.

dude, sam says in surprise, half laughing. you kept those all these years?

hey, forget whatever sixteen-year-old me said, okay? a doofy grins spreads across your face. they're awesome. )

They're not us. They have a different purpose, maybe. To show us things, but not to actually save the world themselves.

[Soldat chews the inside of their cheek a moment, then admits,]

Watching these. I'm a little afraid my friend might go.

Soldat is smiling, albeit maybe a weird, almost sad kind of smile. Between the spirits, er, doing what they're doing, and the all of three new memories they've got so far, they're feeling kind of quiet and contemplative. And the tiniest bit nervous, but you know what, they're always nervous, so that just kind of melds into the background a bit.

But they want to share something. Sora would understand, they think. And they need to share with someone. (And Misty would... probably cry. They're not ready to share with Misty yet.) "Kid. Have you seen these. Tested these." They hold up the first opal, the one with the father in it, in the metal hand.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 23 of 125

EVENT LOG: THE NIGHT WE MET

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

/dying

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

OMG.... JASON......

IV

got it!

dean winchester ※ supernatural

FLUFFY FLOWER FRIEND.........!

no subject

※ sweet sixteen — open.

no subject

no subject